


Not Bred For War

by Bethann, Minniemoggie



Series: Legendary Friendship [21]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dark images, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Graphic Description, Illustrated, Spanking, threat only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethann/pseuds/Bethann, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minniemoggie/pseuds/Minniemoggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the Battle of Helm's Deep unpleasant duties must be performed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We wanted to write a story that showed the first time Gimli called Legolas by the term of endearment 'lamb' that we've often written in our other stories. We had no idea it would turn out so dark, but we hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
>  
> 
> To understand our stories you have to accept our A/U idea that elves come of age at 1,000 years and that Gimli has been assigned to act as a guardian to Legolas, who for our purposes, is somewhere around 800 years old in this story, which according to us is about 15/16 relative to human ages. We do know what Professor Tolkien says about the coming of age of elves, but we have chosen to respectfully ignore this. Also this story has a brief mention of consensual (tacit agreement) spanking of a minor. If any of these ideas offend, please do not read. We would, however, love to hear comments anyone may have about the story that isn't related to our straying from Canon. 
> 
> Also sometimes our stories don't want to be written or posted in chronological order. There are still many more to come that take place on Tol Eressea and in MIddle Earth, but this seemed an appropriate day to post this particular story in remembrance of those who have died tragically in war. 
> 
> It will help if you have read at least the first story in this series "Legendary Friendship" but it is not entirely necessary.

Legolas pov

 

When Aragorn suggested we should ride out just before dawn I assumed it would be to our deaths, for we were vastly outnumbered by the army sent by Saruman and yet I told myself that surely it was better to die taking the fight to the enemy rather than be slaughtered like sheep when the Uruk broke through to the Keep as they most assuredly would have done had it not been for the timely arrival of Gandalf, Eomer and his Éored.

Yet, I felt guilty in leaving so many behind to suffer such a fate including Gimli, although I knew he would take down more than a few of the enemy before they overwhelmed him. I have come to appreciate he is a doughty warrior and he would have blooded his axe with the necks of many Uruk before he fell. 

A smile tugs at my lips even as I stand amongst the dead, as I recall Gimli’s boasting that he had killed at least forty-two Uruk Hai when we met up again in the aftermath of the arrival of Eomer and the destruction of Saruman’s forces. Gimli was not in the least bit amused when I shot an arrow into the body of the Uruk Hai that he was sitting on to ensure that our ‘kills’ would be equal. 

I believe I actually brought down far more than the forty one I originally mentioned, but it would ill become an elven prince to boast so of course I did not tell Gimli that, not even afterwards when he scolded me so ferociously and sent me back to the keep warning me to stay there until he came for me. He meant well of course for he hoped to spare me from the horrors of scouring the battle field in search of the dead and dying. I tried to explain to him that it would not be the first time I had done such duty as a warrior in the Greenwood forces but he was determined that it was unfitting for one so young as he put it.

That of course only made me all the more determined to carry out the duty. I very much dislike being reminded of my comparative youth and even more so hate being thought too young to do what every other warrior is having to do and more than that I am the most senior elf present and it is my responsibility to offer the final rites to those of my kin who sacrificed their lives so that the folk of Helms Deep might have a chance to live.

We must retrieve the bodies of all those elves that died. Haldir has already been taken to an area beyond the keep where we will cleanse and prepare his body. Once all of the dead have been gathered their bodies will be committed to the purification of fire and then their ashes will be taken back to Lothlorien by their brethren along with any weapons that we may salvage. It is customary for elves to pass on their weaponry to their kin rather than to burn them as other races sometimes do.

Most of our dead will be in the area beneath the destroyed Deeping Wall, it will be heartbreaking work to free them from the debris and to see their broken mutilated bodies but it must be done. At the same time we must not ignore the needs of our mortal allies. In some ways it will worse to see their distress and anguish as they recognize the bodies of those they loved. Far too many of those who died were mere boys or old men far past their best, yet they were fathers, brothers or sons of the women who are already scouring the field for their lost loved ones.

Captain Ithilden crosses the courtyard where I stand giving me a short bow, “Lord Legolas, I thought you should know that all of our wounded have now been transferred to the main hall where Lord Aragorn is working. He tells me that they should all recover and that they will soon be fit to return to the Golden Wood. Meanwhile those of us who are unharmed have begun to collect the bodies of our fallen comrades and carry them to the knoll over yonder where our March Warden already lies. Some of the men have offered to bring wood and water so that the bodies may be cleaned prior to burning. I thought it best to accept their help so that the work may proceed as swiftly as possible.”

I nod in agreement, for I cannot speak. Even thinking of Haldir as dead makes my throat close up, I have known him for a long time, for he carried messages from Lord Celeborn to my father on many occasions, and when I was little more than an elfling he used to come and watch me practice my archery. The elves of Lothlorien have paid a heavy price to keep their oath to Rohan. I hope their sacrifice will not be in vain.

As Ithilden picks his way back through the ruined courtyard I catch sight of a now familiar russet beard, Gimli. He is with some of Théoden’s men and they are about to go down to inspect the buttresses and flyers at the far side of the Deep. That is what I have been waiting for, for once Gimli is beyond my sight I will be free to go down and support the work being done on the battlefield. I know that his knowledge of building and interest in it, is likely to keep the dwarf busy for some hours. By that time my own people should have all been retrieved and I will consider my duty to them at least partially fulfilled.

I have left my Lorien bow in the hall but carry the short sword I used at dawn when we rode out through the gates to meet the oncoming Uruk. It is a mannish weapon but well enough made to do the work that lies ahead.

As I approach the main area where most of the dead lie, the stench becomes almost unbearable. Sauron’s minions are foul enough when they live but dead, they smell already like month long corpses. Crows and flies are already congregating. The cries of the wounded are muted now, it is unlikely that many more will be found alive, but we owe it to them to check each body to make sure that all life has been extinguished.  
I work steadily for an hour or more, dragging the Uruk bodies to a growing pile of corpses. The men we move elsewhere where they will be given proper reverence and where hopefully their friends or relatives may be able to find them. A body at least gives them something to mourn over.

Several times already I have dispatched injured Uruk. I expect no thanks for the service, and do it only so that others may be spared the task. I am presently engaged in attempting to free the body of an old man trapped beneath the body of a berserker when I am grabbed by a giant hand about my throat. The foul beast still lives, and is attempting to haul me towards its face. It bares its teeth and its foul breath is noisome. As I struggle to free myself it gives what I presume passes for a laugh for its kind and it crushes my windpipe even further. I scrabble for the sword I had put down so I could use both hands to free the dead man and having found it I plunge it deep into the creature’s chest. I drop onto my backside gasping for air and rub at my abraded throat then go back to work but this time I am more careful to check each Uruk body before going too close.

The work is hard, dirty, and incredibly sad, for even when we retrieve a body it only means that some other family will have their fragile hopes ended when they see their loved one is really dead.

Worst of all is the process of recovery of the young boys’ bodies. T o see mothers weeping over these small corpses is painful in the extreme. Children should not be part of war, and many of the boys had little or no experience with weapons or fighting. They were lambs to the slaughter. The women scream and weep as we bring in the bodies. Some shout and blame those of us who have survived for the loss of their sons. I cannot find it in my heart to blame them. We should never have allowed these babies to pick up arms no matter how dire the situation. It is a warrior’s role to defend the helpless not to use them as fodder for the enemy. 

With each retrieval I find I am becoming more and more distraught. I would weep with the women were it not for the fact that a warrior must keep his stoic front no matter the provocation and I have already let my emotions overrule my sense once, when I told Aragorn in the armory that we were all doomed to die. I will not falter a second time even though my body screams for respite. It must be more than three days since I had any kind of rest and for much of that time I have been fighting for my life and for the lives of others. 

Noon has come and is long gone for the shadows are growing on the stone wall of the inner keep when I stumble on a hidden rock and as I steady myself I catch a glimpse of blonde hair down in the darkness of a drain culvert. I duck down and splash into the muddied, reddened water and see a small body, this one huddled right at the back of the tunnel. Obviously the boy had been hiding here hoping he might escape the carnage.  
As I reach him I put out a hand to try and lift his head which is slumped across his torso to my dismay it slides clear of his neck. A scimitar has cleaved it clean from the body! The eyes stare out at me, begging, pleading, and accusing those who might have prevented this outrage against such innocence. That denunciation is horrifying enough but as I look more closely I see the evidence of many cuts and slashes, fingers and hands and other parts sheared off while the victim still lived. It is torture and cruelty beyond anything I have seen before and against a target that could not respond other than to be petrified to find himself in such a situation. 

Suddenly it is too much. I stagger out of the culvert, desperate to get away from the dreadfulness that small space holds. I look about, hoping that there will be someone nearby who can share the awfulness of my find but I see no one. I want to run, but I will not leave that poor child there alone any longer. He has suffered enough! Surely I have sufficient nerve to see that he is not wholly abandoned and forsaken by those who should have ensured his safety. I find a cloak covering another body and tug it free for the boy’s need is greater. Steeling myself I go back into the tunnel and wrap the sad remains of this innocent victim within it then taking this burden light though it is in my arms I begin the trudge back to the fortress. What I will say to those who may recognize this mutilated corpse I do not know, all I know is I have to return him if I can to those who have loved him and to show him and them that his death was not pointless that his sacrifice will count for something. I have made it only half of the way when I see a familiar figure before me and all I can think is thanks be to the Valar. 

 

Gimli pov

 

As I go about my grim business I cannot help thinking that the great songs of old never tell the full tale of the true horrors of war. They talk of brave warriors performing magnificent acts to protect the innocent and right terrible wrongs. As a starry eyed child I dreamed of the day I could participate in the glories of battle, but had I been told the truth things might have been different. I still would have done so, of course, for that is the duty of warrior, but perhaps I would not have been so eager for there is nothing glamorous or glorious about what I am doing now. The songs never speak of the hours that must be spent sorting corpses into piles after the battle and searching for those who may have a spark of life left just so it can be snuffed out by a weapon carried just for that purpose. I have already finished off dozens of foul orc and Uruk-hai without a twinge of regret, for both were created by dark forces for one reason alone, to do the evil bidding of their master. They were bred for war and death is the only way they can be freed from their miserable existence.

I managed to end my share of such creatures during the battle as well of course, losing count at forty-two after the forty-second notched my axe with its iron collar. Once the Deeping wall was breached it became increasingly less important to keep track of ‘kills’, and focusing on surviving the night became my primary aim instead. To be perfectly honest I did not expect to have the opportunity to report my score to my opponent for I did not suppose either of us would survive the night we were so outnumbered by foes. But survive we did and I was so happy to see my newly acquired charge that I would not have cared in the least if he had won the contest after all. But as fortune would have it he must have lost track before I did, for his final count was one less than mine was when I stopped counting. 

Never have I been so relieved to see someone in my entire life, for I have sworn to look after the lad and had he died under my watch it would have haunted me for the rest of my life. To cut down an immortal life seems tragic enough and Legolas has not even reached adulthood yet, which makes the idea worse yet. The lad was up in arms about the poor human boys who were thrust unprepared into battle, insisting that children should not be a part of war. I could not have agreed more and it was all I could do not to point out that he is relatively hardly older than they were and in this dwarf’s opinion should not have been here either. I said nothing, but the irony was not lost on me. 

Of course unlike those boys he has been well trained and is already a skilled warrior, something that is almost even more disturbing to me in some ways. It seems morally wrong to me to make a warrior of anyone who has likely not even reached his full growth yet and I believe I will never understand the human, and evidently elven, tendency to do so. It would not do to say so to Legolas, but I have been troubled by this quandary ever since I was made aware of his true age.

It is not that I doubt his skills or abilities, for his prowess in combat is unmatched, and yet even that does not justify things to my way of thinking. Skill level is not the only thing to be considered when sending someone off to war. For instance, the lad’s agility and speed in battle was a sight to see, something like an elegant but deadly dance, but in the aftermath as he stood on the battlefield and some of his kin began to surround him looking for direction, I couldn’t help noticing his adolescent lankiness in comparison to the other elven warriors. At that moment it became painfully evident that he is nothing more than a precocious and talented elfling who should know nothing of the ugliness and brutality of war, not anymore than the than the wide eyed Rohirrim lads who were handed weapons they could barely lift and expected to wield them. 

They idea of a youngster of any race having to scour a battlefield sorting through the dead and dying seemed obscene and I suddenly could not bear the thought of it! So I sent my charge off to wait in the Keep until further notice. 

Of course I did not expect him to go meekly so I was not surprised in the least when he argued indignantly that he was accustomed to such work and that it was his duty to offer final rites to his kin who had lost their lives. I would never stand in the way of such a responsibility, for dwarves know the importance of respecting the dead better than anyone. Still that does not mean he could not do so after others had collected the bodies and readied them for their last journey and so I told him. Knowing that he had participated in such things before did nothing to change my mind on the matter, for he had not been my responsibility those times. Besides the battles he has fought before have been in and around his forest home, where he was fighting against spiders, orc, and other dark creatures side by side with trained elven warriors. This battle is something entirely different from that. No doubt many old men beyond their prime and beardless little boys of Rohan have given the ultimate sacrifice in battle for their country and are now out there somewhere waiting to be collected or worse yet, helped to expire. 

I might not have been able to prevent the elfling from fighting, but no youngling in my care is going to dig through reeking carcasses, possibly coming across dying old men and little boys in need of mercy killing. I can barely stand doing such dismal services myself, let alone think of my young, charge having to do so. If Legolas has the tiniest bit of innocence left I will not be responsible for squashing it. 

My resolve on this matter must have come through to him, for he did eventually give up arguing and made his way to the keep. How long that will last I do not know, for I have been called away by some of Théoden’s men to assess the damage to the far side of the fortress. To be perfectly honest, I do not relish the idea of having him beyond my sight for the length of time it will take to evaluate the situation, but there is little that can be done about it right now. Security is a primary concern and so I go off to do what I can to offer my advice and to attempt to help organize the work of making the area safe as possible. 

As it turns out it takes most of the rest of the day to help to replace the damaged and weakened buttresses with temporary ones made of any handy material we can find lying about. Mostly this means dragging large chunks of broken off stone, bricks, or marble into piles next to the ramparts to keep them from falling over until crews can be organized to fix them properly. For now the main goal is to keep folks from being crushed by falling walls. Theoden’s men show great heart in this backbreaking work, but humans were not designed to have the same stamina as a dwarf and I find myself wishing for a crew of Aulë’s sons to work with instead, for a party of my own kin would have this work done in half the time. Still we struggle on as best we can and the sun is beginning to set when we finally call a halt to the work and head back to the Keep.

It seems to me that I have never been quite so filthy or quite so exhausted in all my life. Not only am I splattered in black blood from my earlier gruesome task, but now I am covered in mud as dirt well. My throat and lungs seem full of brick dust. All I want is some water to drink and to wash in and a place to collapse, so I return to the tiny quarters I have been assigned to share with Aragorn and Legolas. It is crowded, but better than the cold ground we have had to make do with of late. I do find water, enough to quench my thirst and to wipe the grime from my face and hands, but both of my friends are missing. No doubt Aragorn is still tending the wounded, but where Legolas has gotten to is a mystery, though I have a sinking feeling I will not like it when I find the answer. 

I had hoped to find him resting as I advised him to do earlier, for I knew very well he had not stopped for a moment of respite in a long while. I do not know how long it has been, for I have been unable to keep as close an eye on him as I would like due to recent events, but I feel sure it is at least a couple of days a good portion of which were spent in hard combat, which has to be hard on him no matter how much he claims to be immune to fatigue. He likes to take advantage of my lack of knowledge of elven capabilities, but I am not quite as ignorant as he might want to believe. Aragorn has been a good source of information and I have made a point to pay attention to the lad now that he has become my responsibility so by now I have a good idea of exactly how long he can go without rest and he must be reaching that point by now. Besides that ordinary common sense makes it impossible not to realize that no one alive, no matter how strong they are, could go through these last few brutal days without it taking a heavy toll on them. Dwarves are hardy folks, but even I have needed a few hours of sleep to be able to carry on. In fact my energy is flagging now.

But rather than giving in to my own body’s pleading for rest, I leave my small quarters in search of my charge. I am rather annoyed if I am honest and have to admit to recalling fondly a few short months ago when I only had my own needs to concern myself over. It is a selfish thought of course, and I squash it as soon as it enters my head. A dwarven warrior never grumbles about a duty. Besides I have become more than a little fond of the lad and I do care for him, even if he is determined to drive me batty by not being where I expect him to be. 

My irritation level goes up considerably when upon asking a few folks where he can be found it is revealed that he was last seen defying my orders by helping clear the battlefield. In spite of having promised to heed me, the boy has issues with the inability to do as he is told at times, which is why I find my patience growing very thin as I scour the battlefield once again, this time for my willful charge. By the time I spy him coming toward the fortress with a small bundle in his arms I am quite livid. As soon as he is close enough to hear me, I call out to him.

“What exactly do ye think ye are doing, elfling? I believe I made it very clear where I expected ye to be, isn’t it so?”

Rather than answering, he gives no indication that he has heard a word I just said other than to look relieved. He speaks in a shaky and strangely hoarse voice.

“Thank goodness you are here. I am so glad to see you.”

I am taken aback, for I wouldn’t think he would be so pleased to see me after having been caught openly flouting my orders.

“Ye may be changing your mind on that very soon, by the time I am finished with ye,” I warn him, “Can ye give me a good reason why I shouldn’t blister your rear end for ye after such blatant disobedience?”

My words finally seem to register for he answers my question, though he still seems more unconcerned over his own predicament than I would expect. 

“N..no…not really,” he answers, again in that same strange voice, “but first I need you to help me with something.”

It is then that I notice his face for the first time. Under all the filth and grime that cover his face, he is as white as a ghost and looks as if he has just seen one, or worse. His eyes are haunted and his expression more stricken than I have ever seen him before. He looks even more horror-struck than when we came upon poor Boromir shot full of arrows, more upset than when Gandalf fell. I cannot imagine what might have happened to him since we argued this morning, but it is easy to see that something has for he seems to be close to panicking. I soften my voice so as not to frighten him further. 

“Of course I will help ye if I can, lad,” I say, “what can I do for ye?”

His horrified eyes look down at the bundle in his arms and I see now that he is trembling like a leaf.

“We need to find…” he chokes on the words as tears fill his eyes. He seems unable to continue the thought and again I am stunned for I have never seen him in such a state before. Whatever the problem is must be contained inside the cloak he keeps looking at with so much anguish. The body of a friend or acquaintance perhaps? Whatever the case it is also clear that I need to do something to alleviate his extreme distress because frankly he looks just about ready to faint. I step forward and place a hand on his arm just in case.

“Put the bundle down laddie,” I order him, keeping my voice soft but firm. 

“I…I can’t Gimli.”

“Of course ye can elfling, and ye will. Put it down and then I will help ye with whatever needs doing. Mind me now!”

He looks into my eyes for a moment and evidently see something that makes him feel he can trust me, for he sinks to his knees and gently lays the small parcel on the ground and then starts to rise, but I put a staying hand on his shoulder and indicate that he should sit down. He does not argue though his eyes never leave his little burden until I step in front of him into his line of vision. I quickly look him over to make sure there is nothing obviously wrong and it is then that I notice a dark bruise in the shape of a great handprint covering most of his neck. I would have noticed had it been there this morning so this is something that has happened since the battle ended.

“Ye are hurt,” I say, lifting his chin to get a better look. He looks confused and then his hand goes to his throat as he evidently recalls what happened. 

“I was pulling a man’s body free and one of the Uruk was still alive,” he explains, “it is nothing.”

“It looks like something to me, elfling. Even your voice has been affected so there must be some internal damage as well. Ye should let Aragorn look at ye once he comes in from tending the wounded.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he maintains, “not when compared with…”

Again his eyes turn toward the cloak on the ground and he leans forward as if to pick it up again. Again I step between him and his goal, only this time I kneel next to it and order him to look away. 

“We need to find his folks, Elvellon,” he insists attempting to get past me, but I only grab his hand in mid reach.

“The only thing ye need to do is obey me,” I say, with a finality that I hope leaves no room for argument. “Now look away!”

He stares at me for a long moment, but then finally drops eye contact and turns back toward the Keep before burying his face completely in his arms. I give his shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning back toward the cloak. I apprehensively begin to unwrap it, more than a little concerned about what I will find when I do so, though nothing could have prepared me for the shock of seeing what is inside. Sweet Valar! It is all I can do not to cry out in horror, though I manage to keep silent other than a sharp intake of breath for it will not do to add my own alarm to the situation. Inside is the small, dismembered corpse of a human boy no more than twelve or thirteen years old with golden hair on a head that is no longer attached to his torso. I clamp my eyes shut and have to swallow the bile that rises in my throat before I can open them again. When I do, I can’t help thinking that this boy is in relative terms at least, really only three or four years younger than my own particular charge and his hair is just a shade darker. I feel myself break out in a cold sweat at the thought, though I do not entirely understand why that is. A person would think my first thought would be for the child’s poor family and their loss, but that is not the case, though I am thinking of that now. No wonder Legolas was so distraught. It is a crime for such a terrible atrocity to have taken place!

And when I look back at the boy’s young elven champion sitting behind me, I can’t help feeling that he is a victim of the same criminal act. It is my responsibility to shield him from harm and so I feel sick that I was not able to stop him seeing such a heinous site that will no doubt leave a life long scar.

Still I must do my best to minimize as much collateral damage as possible. I remove a small belt knife that is tucked into the child’s belt and place it in my own before wrapping the tragic remains back in the cloak. The boy’s folks will never see him in such a state if I can help it and the knife will help identify him to those who are searching. I turn back toward Legolas and place an arm around his shoulders that begin to shake as soon as I do so.

“Someone will be looking for him,” he tells me. “We have to bring him to his family.”

“Nay, child, ye have done all ye need to do for the poor lad. I will handle the rest,” I assure him and then gently instruct. “I want ye to go back to the Keep now. See if ye can find someone to look at your injuries and then eat something if ye can manage it or at least drink some water to soothe your throat since it must be bruised inside as well as out. After that, clean up a bit and rest quietly in our quarters. I will be back there with ye just as soon as I can.” 

“I couldn’t. It would be wrong to leave this duty to you…”he begins, but I interrupt by placing a hand on either side of his face.

“Ye are not leaving the duty to me, lad, I am taking it from ye. Ye have no choice in the matter, so there is no point in arguing. Now heed me, elfling, I mean what I say.”

I drag him to his feet and turn him by both shoulders in the direction I wish him to go. He tries to twist back around, but I only hold on tighter.

“I will take good care of him, I swear it. I would never lie to ye laddie. Now do as ye are bid for once in your life. Go on!” 

I send him off with a light swat and then watch until I am sure he will not return and then I turn back and lift the small bundle into my arms. Perhaps it is wrong, but rather than seek out the poor unnamed boy’s family with what is left of his corpse, I find the nearest pile of human bodies that have already been prepared for fire. Saying a silent prayer over the child, I lay him on top of the heap just as a lit torch is taken to it. I stand and watch as the flames climb higher and the little body is returned to the earth before I go in search of the family, thinking I may never be able to smell anything other than the acrid scent of burning flesh again.

It takes until well after sundown to find them. Eventually I see a poor desperate woman balancing a baby on her hip and begging for anyone to tell her what has happened to her son. She is tirelessly turning over one small body and then another until I show her the knife. After that she drops wailing to her knees, and all I can do is lay the knife on the ground before her.

“He died honorably,” I assure her, as if that matters at all, “a brave soldier of Rohan.” 

The words are empty ones I know, but I take comfort in the fact that at least the poor grieving mother will never know that her child was tortured and mutilated before he was allowed to die. It is a very small consolation.


	2. Chapter 2

Legolas' POV

 

My relief at having the burden of the child’s body taken from me cannot be put into words. Perhaps I am being weak, but I cannot find it in myself to regret that weakness. I can only thank the Valar that they sent me such a companion as Gimli Gloinson. His strength, and doughty common sense is well known to me, but more and more I find that it is his care and compassion that are his greatest characteristics. As I turn away from the battlefield I find that every last bit of strength seems to have left my body. My legs can hardly carry me away from the battlefield toward the Keep.

I only look back once, to see that Gimli has taken up the pitifully small bundle and is moving off towards the area where the dead are being laid out, then he stops as if he has changed his mind and I see that he is now intent on taking the boy to where other bodies are being laid upon a pyre and I once again wonder at the strength and sensibilities of my dwarven minder. I had been so focused on finding the family of that poor child but now I realize that there would be no kindness or relief for the grieving mother to see what had become of her precious son. Better that she never knows anything beyond the fact that he is dead.

The smell of burning flesh assaults my nostrils, ash stings my eyes and burns my abraded throat making it difficult to breath as I struggle onwards, past weeping women, clinging children, exhausted men. The sounds of their grief tears at my soul, reminding me of the day so many yeni before when my father wept for my mother. I was very young then and did not fully understand the full extent of my loss only that my Adar was beyond comfort. Tears stream down my face at the memory and I care not who sees them for the sheer scale and horror of what we have lived through surely grants me the right to share in their sense of loss and grief.

By the time I make it into the inner courtyard I have to use the wall to keep myself upright; only stubborn will carries my feet forward.

“Lord Legolas.”

A voice intrudes on my efforts to keep putting one foot in front of the other.I turn to see Gamling one of the watchers of Helm’s Dike making his way towards me. I do not speak but he seems to understand that I want to know what he needs of me.

“My King asks if you can come to him. He is in the inner hall.”

I look down at my filthy clothing, and again Gamling answers a question I have yet to pose.

“The necessities of the day will surely excuse your appearance Lord, and my king is anxious to know how best he can show his appreciation for the sacrifices made by your people in coming to our aid. He would welcome your advice.”

I wipe a hand over my face, no doubt leaving it filthier than ever. I am so tired I can scarcely think yet I have a duty to my kin, so I nod and follow him back into the hall where Théoden King sits. He looks weary but has at least had the benefit of hot water and clean clothing. When he sees me approaching he looks up from his scrutiny of papers on the table before him and I can tell that he is shocked at what he sees.I must present quite a sight.

“Prince Legolas.”

“I apologize for my appearance,” I begin, “I have been on the battlefield dispatching the Uruk and bringing in the dead.”

“There is no need for apologies between warriors” he tells me, “Indeed I am grateful for all that you and your folk have done, here, including your care of the dead and dying, ” he pushes a goblet of wine into my hand, “I can see however, you are nearing the end of even your considerable strength. Gamling,” he turns to the old man, “see that hot water, food and clean clothing is sent to Prince Legolas’ room and find Lord Aragorn if you can.”

Gamling bows and departs, and I find myself pressed into a chair.

“I will not keep you long, prince, but I understand from Captain Ithilden that the elves of Lothlorien will leave with the dawn for they expect further incursions from Orc and Uruk along their borders.”

“I am afraid that is the case. The darkness and evil that was visited upon you and your people, threatens many races and places in Middle Earth. No one is immune from it I fear.”

“Then they will go with our grateful thanks, and whatever food or supplies they may need. I would like to write to their lord to express my sorrow at the losses that they have suffered by coming to our aid as they did. Would such a letter be acceptable?”

“I am sure Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel would welcome it.”

“Then I will have it ready for their departure,” there is a pause and I find myself struggling to stay awake and aware as Théoden hesitates, before he speaks again.

“What will happen to the bodies of the elves that were killed? Will they be taken home?”

“No, it is not our way, nor would it be feasible to do so even if we would wish it. Their bodies will be burned tonight under the light of the stars and their ashes scattered on the battle field at dawn. Their weapons and personal effects will be returned to their families.”

“A fitting end for such warriors, as they have proved to be.” Again he hesitates, “I would wish to show our gratitude for their sacrifice by attending their obsequies but do not want to intrude if your ceremonies are private.”

I manage a smile, “All who wish to attend are welcome. The horns will sound when it is time to gather and pay our respects. There is little ceremony. Those who wish to speak will do so, a torch will be lit for each warrior and they will be consigned to the pyre at the same time, one of us will remain with the fire until it burns out for the last sparks are said to mark the passing of our kin into the Halls of Mandos and we would not have them go unheeded or unnoticed.”

Théoden King pats my arm, recognizing no doubt that I will be the one who will stay by the pyre as I am the most senior elf present.

“Then I will certainly be there to offer what support I can, for without their sacrifice we here would not have seen out the night and been here to welcome this dawn.”

“Until then,” another voice intrudes, “you, princeling, would do well to go and take advantage of the offer of hot water, food, and rest.”

I turn round although I do not need to do so since I know Estel’s voice well enough and I recognize he is also using his healers tone. I would sigh but I have not the energy. “I am about to do so.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he comes closer and catches a glimpse of my throat and I hear the hiss of an indrawn breath. He does not bother to ask, but merely grasps my chin and lifts it to examine the bruises on my throat. “What happened?”

 

“An Uruk took exception to my good looks”

“I assume it paid the price for its impertinence.”

“It did.”

“Good. Now if you will excuse us your majesty it is time this elfling took a nap.”

I give Estel my best Thranduil glare but he ignores it taking my elbow and half guiding, half towing me has me out of the hall and on my way to the chamber I am sharing with him and Gimli before I have found the breath to object.

The room is small, but it has a bed and for a mercy Gamling has kept his word and arranged for hot water to be sent up, and someone has found my discarded pack which contains clean clothes. Estel encourages me to strip off my filthy clothing which I am not in the least loathe to do. There is enough water for me to wash not only my skin but my hair. One of the women of the Keep carries off my tunic and boots promising to have them cleaned and returned before I have to attend to the funeral rites of the Lothlorien elves.

After bathing I eat the food that has also appeared. It is hot and I find I am ravenously hungry although I urge Estel to share with me.

He shakes his head, “I ate earlier, and I have slept, which from the look of you is more than you have done. When was the last time you took rest?”

“I cannot recall.”

Estel gives me another of his looks and when he orders me to lie down on the bed so he can examine my bruised throat I decide that discretion is the better part of valor and do as I am bid without argument. I do not know how it happens but as Estel applies some soothing salve I must drift off into much needed sleep and I do not wake for several hours.

My sleep is deep and mercifully dream free. Perhaps I am too exhausted to even reach the dream path as I would normally do, if so then I am grateful. As I begin to come back up through the layers of sleep I realize that I am not alone, but I recognize who is with me so know I am safe at least from everything save his righteous wrath at my having ignored his advice to rest. I almost smile at my thoughts, I do not in the least expect Gimli to accept that what he gave me was ‘advice’. I know well I disobeyed his orders and should expect to be called to account for it but even if I am I will not count my choices to have been the wrong ones. There was work to be done and I did it.

“Are ye awake lad?”

I blink back into full consciousness and turn to see Gimli peering anxiously at me. “I am..” My throat is still bruised but I am glad that my voice seems to have regained its normal tenor. “How long have I slept?”

“Not long enough to my way of thinking,” Gimli grumbles, “but it is past sunset and I know ye have duties to perform so perhaps it is well ye woke when ye did. How are ye feeling now?”

“Better”

“That’s good, up ye get then there is more hot water and somehow the women have not only managed to clean your tunic and boots but just about every other item of clothing ye possess. I understand there was quite a competition amongst them to see who would have the honor of the work.”

He gives that glorious full-throated laugh of his, when he sees I am blushing “Eh lad, don’t look so embarrassed. It was a pleasure to see so many laughing and enjoying themselves as they were meant to. There has been little enough for them to take pleasure in lately and once your clothes were taken care of they turned their attention to others who might wish to attend tonight. Everyone here wants to do their bit to see full honor and dignity is given those who have fallen to keep them safe.”

“Not all” I mutter thinking of the boy.

“No” Gimli is immediately beside me, his large calloused hand over mine, “but those that are dead are beyond pain and terror now laddie, and there are many who are alive because of what we helped to do, think on.”  
I give myself a mental shake, “yes you are right of course.”

I slide out of bed and begin to dress finding comfort in donning truly clean clothing, even my tunic is spotless, at least my appearance will not shame my father and my folk. As I braid my hair I recall my earlier thoughts about ignoring Gimli’s orders and wonder if I should raise the subject or leave well alone. While I am still debating this Gimli speaks up from his place by the hearth where a small fire burns and he is brewing tea.

“Ye are looking a deal better lad. But do not think I have forgotten your disobedience from this morning young elf, but tonight is not the time for us to be discussing it. Let it go for now and come and drink this tea. It will be a long night and ye need warmth in your belly more than ye have need of heat in your hind-quarters.”

I take the mug from his outstretched hand and mutter a thank you, grateful for his forbearance but determined also to make it plain that no matter how sore I am made I will not regret my earlier choice.

“Aye, I know it” he says as I finish, “but we will talk later. For now if ye are ready we will go down… And laddie?”

I am already on my way to the door but turn and wait, “yes?”

“Remember ye are not alone tonight. Your friends are with ye and will give ye what support they can.”

Tears well up once again and I go back across the room and down onto one knee to embrace my dwarf, “I know it and I am very grateful. Thank you elvellon.”

It seems to me that Gimli’s eyes are suspiciously bright as well but all he says is “get along with ye, ye young devil. Ye will not get round Gimli Gloinson that easily.”

We go out into the night together, elf and dwarf and I find immeasurable comfort in the presence by my side. How quickly and how fully I have come to rely on him.

As we walk down through the keep the elven horns ring out and we are joined by Mithrandir, Aragorn, Théoden King, Eomer and Lady Eowyn who each incline their heads before forming up behind Gimli and me. When we come to the open court, I find the riders of the Mark are lining the battlements, breast plates gleaming, spears glinting in the light of the torches, the horsehair on their helmets streaming out in the breeze. Packed into the narrow passages that lead to the broken gates are the defenders of the keep and their families. All are silent, watchful and as we pass they bow and then join the throng so that it is a large group that crosses the now deserted battle field to where the elves of Lothlorien wait.

A pyre has been built on which lay the bodies of the elven dead each wrapped in his cloak so that their faces are covered, at the center of the group the crimson cloak of Haldir March warden of Lothlorien stands out sharply against the grey and green of the other warriors. My feet falter and immediately I feel a strong hand on my arm.

“Steady lad.”

I move the middle of the half circle of the remaining Lothlorien warriors; many of them hold torches ready to set them to the wood. Gimli stands just behind me taking a lit torch from Captain Ithilden ready to hand it to me when the time is right. The others of the party cross to complete the circle and the folk of the keep and the Rohirrim cluster behind them.

A silence deeper even than the one that filled the keep when we waited for Saruman’s approaching army spreads over the assembled company. Even the children are quiet. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howls but my concentration is on what is to come.

The night is full dark now, and as I look skyward I see that the stars are beginning to appear. Is it my fancy or are there more of them this night? Perhaps that is where the fêa of the dead have gone.

I raise my hand and begin the invocation for the dead.

Warriors all they came with songs to the battle  
Staunch to the end they stood against odds uncounted  
But swifter than an arrow death came in the evening …  
Cut down as the leaves of Lothlorien that fall in the winter …  
As the stars they are now bright and luminous …  
On the air their voices linger …

And in our present darkness their sacrifice is remembered

As I fall silent Captain Ithilden calls out the name of the first of our fallen, and then each in turn gives voice to the dead, till the roll call is complete save one

Now I take the torch from Gimli, and call out the final name, ‘Haldir of Lorien’ and then throw my torch into the flames, where it is followed by all the others. The wood catches immediately and the flames shoot skywards. Lady Eowyn begins a funeral dirge that I heard before at the burial of Prince Theodred and a hundred or more voices take up the song as we elves watch the fire.

When the song ends our mortal allies led by Aragorn bow their heads before they depart leaving the elves to begin our final lament to the dead. The song is simple but the harmonies ring out rising with the flames then falling again as the bodies are consumed and the wood falls in on its self. One by one the Lothlorien warriors take their leave bowing to the pyre and then to me and then I stand alone waiting for the fire to die down. Save I am not alone. Behind me, silent but watching, is Gimli who it seems intends to remain with me to the end. It may not be usual but it is a great comfort to me to know he is there. As the fire dies and the last sparks fly upwards Gimli takes my arm, already the first threads of dawn are showing in the sky.

“It is done lad, come away now and let others do the rest. You have done your duty aye and more. Let Captain Ithilden do what is needful.”

I offer up a final prayer that the dead, both immortal and mortal have found peace. I think of the young boy and trust that Eru will have taken him into his arms and given him comfort. And then I find I am shaking and crying and I drop to my knees and weep.

 

Gimli's POV

 

I stand silently watching the fires as the first light of daybreak begins to thin the night sky. At dawn the ashes of the bodies of the elven warriors who have been burned together tonight are to be scattered over the battlefield. I do not know is who will be responsible for seeing that this duty is cared for, but I do know that it will not be my own particular elfling who does so if I can prevent it. He has already had to do more than seems right or fair in my mind and though I am doing my best to hide it, I am shocked at what is expected of him. I realize that as the son of a King, he outranks any of the elves here, but still one would think allowances would be made for his youth. In dwarven society minors are not expected or allowed to shoulder so much responsibility, no matter their rank or social status. And though I keep telling myself that different folk have different ways, I was barely able to keep silent as the lad was left all alone to wait next to the pyre throughout the night. In my opinion his leading the funeral ceremony and delivering the last rites to these warriors was enough and too much. Surely someone could have spared him the horror of having to stand alone and watch the corpses of his kin burn to ashes and dust! It is all too much for a mere boy to have to manage on his own, and it made my heart ache to think of it, though I will not deny that he did a beautiful job of it.

Of course he is not truly alone, nor has he been, for as his assigned guardian, I feel it is my duty to remain with him through the whole ordeal. That is not the usual practice of course, but no one seemed to mind, and I am not certain, but I think Legolas is pleased to have the company. Just as the fire dies down, I step in to prevent him offering to scatter the ashes himself. I take his arm and attempt to guide him back inside.

“It is done lad, come away now and let others do the rest. You have done your duty aye and more. Let Captain Ithilden do what is needful.”

He hesitates for a few moments and I wonder if he will argue with me over the necessity of helping with the ashes, but instead he begins to tremble almost violently and then sinks to his knees and begins to weep. Evidently the horrors of the last few days have caught up with him and he has reached the end of his strength and can no longer hold onto his stoic elven composure, which is not a bad thing in my opinion. It cannot possibly be good for him to keep so much grief inside. So rather than hushing him or admonishing him not to cry as is usual when dealing with someone who is weeping, I just place a comforting hand on his shoulder. On his knees as he is his head reaches my chest, so almost without thought I pull him to me so that his face is buried in my beard and I feel his arms wrap tightly around me. His whole frame is shaking with deep gasping sobs and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to stroke his long hair and rock him back a forth a little just as I would my young nephew when comforting him from some hurt or heartache that sometimes plagues a youngling’s life.

 

Only this is no child’s sorrow, but the sort of grief that no one should ever have to deal with, let alone a half grown lad who should not even be beyond the direct supervision of a parent yet. Not for the first time I feel outraged that someone has permitted such a tragic wrong to happen. Childhood is fleeting even for immortals, for even a thousand years is short when compared to eternity. It is a crime to curtail it by heaping adult responsibilities on someone who has not yet reached full maturity. Adolescence should be a carefree time when a youngster can practice becoming an adult in a safe environment with someone who cares for them to watch out for them and rescue them from youthful folly as they learn and grow.

It is not a time to be sent on dangerous quests, to have to lead soldiers into battle, to have to fight for your life and the lives of others, or to have to participate in mercy killing or mass cremations, or worry over the mutilated bodies of tortured children. I cannot imagine how any of this is right in anyone’s mind and I am furious about it! I do not know exactly who to blame, for there are many circumstances that have taken place to bring me to where I am today standing before the heaped ashes of the bodies of dead elven soldiers cradling a sobbing elfling against my chest. All I know is that in spite of how ludicrous it may seem, I have come to care for this child very much and it kills me to see him so inundated in grief and suffering. As I continue to hold him close, I swear to Mahal that I will do all I can to shield him from such damage in the future and to help repair what shards of childhood he has left if I am given the opportunity.

Of course I say nothing of these thoughts, for I doubt that they would be well received or understood, even if I could express exactly what I am feeling. Instead I merely offer commendation for a job well done.

“The ceremony was beautiful, lad,” I say to the top of his golden head, “ye carried it off flawlessly.”

He does not lift his head, but I feel him relax a little in my arms.

“D…do you really…th…think so?” his sobs have given way to soft hiccoughing breaths.

“I do,” I firmly assure him. “ye managed everything with perfect decorum and gave your fallen kin a fitting and honorable send off. No doubt their families will be grateful and I am sure your father and king would be proud.”

I wonder if that might have been the wrong thing to say when he stiffens in my arms and pulls away to wipe a sleeve across his face.

“I wish…” he says, but lets that trail off. He does not need to finish it, though, for I know what he was about to say. He wishes he were home with his father. I wish it for him as well, for he is sorely in need of comfort, but wishing for it will not make it so. I can only hope I can be a faithful substitute for the time being.

“I know it laddie,” I say. “It is perfectly natural to be homesick at such times.” Here I lift his chin and look into his damp face, noticing how the tears magnify the blueness of his eyes, eyes that have seen too much. It strikes me that he may be well trained for war, but he was not bred for it, like most of our enemy have. He, like so many others, will be permanently scarred and it hurts that there is nothing I can do to change it. All I know to do is to tender what solace I can in the absence of his true parent. It doesn’t seem like much but there is naught else for it.

“If it helps at all, I am proud of ye myself.” I offer.

I feel a lump grow in my own throat as large, liquid eyes light up at the compliment. It is touching that he is so desirous of my approval, but it only highlights his youthful uncertainty more than ever.

“You are?” His question is so heartbreakingly sincere, that I automatically lean down and kiss his forehead, which surprises me at least as much as it surprises him. He does not seem offended though, so I hurry to answer.

“Of course I am, lamb. Ye are a good, brave lad, who anyone would be proud to call a friend.”

I feel my face heat at having let that term of endearment slip, but again he hardly seems to notice other than to be pleased at the praise.

“Thank you, Elvellon,” he says, getting to his feet and then taking my arm as we walk back toward the keep.

“Ye are more than welcome, lamb,” I say, repeating the word as if to get a taste of it and try it out.

This time it seems more natural and somehow fitting, for even though lambs are naturally gentle creatures who need guidance and care, they are surprisingly hardy and resilient. Now if only I can prevent my lad from becoming a sacrificial lamb to the darkness that is trying to pervade all of Middle Earth I will be happy. I know that darker days are ahead, but just now …well just now I truly feel I it is possible


End file.
